Holding out for a Hero
by ObsidianJade
Summary: Post Starcrossed. A despondent Hawkgirl gets a nudge in the right direction, courtesty of a few friends, old and new. One shot, songfic. HGGL


S: Okay. I finally did it. I wrote a songfic. The world as we know it is over!

Onyx: Oh, cut the histrionics! The song is 'Holding out for a Hero,' the Jennifer Saunders version on the Shrek 2 soundtrack. If you haven't heard the song, I would recommend it.

Disclaimer: Don't own Justice League. Don't own the song. Don't own much, actually, but anything you don't recognize in here is in fact mine. I'll let you borrow so long as you ask nicely.

Timeline: Set post – 'Starcrossed,' This does not take into account any events of JLU and can be called AU. Can be taken as a sequel to our story 'Myself,' but can be read alone.

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The club was large, clean, and surprisingly quiet. It was, in fact, the last place one might expect to find Shayera Hol, formerly Hawkgirl of the Justice League. However, the redheaded woman was there, settled quietly at the well-polished oak bar. The bartender, a broad-shouldered woman of some forty years, knew perfectly well who 'Sherri Hall' was, and was completely content to have the former heroine at her bar.

The club itself was a pleasant place. The large dance floor was ringed by small tables, draped in black covers and surrounded by four chairs. A stage, surrounded by cutting-edge sound equipment, occupied the end of the club opposite the bar. Elevated on a balcony above the remainder of the club, the bar was accessible only by two wide, sweeping ramps that ran down to the floor from either end of the bar. A handsomely carved wooden railing, chest-high to Shayera, prevented any overly intoxicated patrons from falling backwards off the balcony, and trailed down the stairs on either side.

"Evening, Sherri. Usual?" The bartender's narrow, intelligent face regarded her with a faint smile playing over her lips. Bright green eyes and close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair gave the woman an intense appearance, not helped by her broad shoulders and muscular frame. Hidden under a red polo shirt and black jeans, the deep scars and the leg brace from a long-ago shootout held the secret to her retirement from the police force.

"Please." Accepting her drink with a distracted nod, Shayera turned to watch a young couple on the dance floor. A light rock tune was playing, and the pair moved easily over the gleaming floor. The girl was pale, a feathery cap of blond hair on her head, and her boyfriend was dark. As dark as…. Shayera gave her head a fierce shake, trying to rid the thought of him from her mind. She'd left John Stewart behind months ago, standing on the cliff outside of Wayne Manor. She'd flown away and never looked back.

"Shy?" Wolf, the bartender, plucked at the elbow of Shayera's blue trench coat to get her attention. "Sorry, she said mildly, when the Thanagarian jumped. "You looked pretty lost for a moment there, and you haven't even started drinking."

"It's not the drinks," Shayera answered, her voice soft and sad. Wolf followed her gaze to the dance floor, blinking once in understanding. Shayera grimaced before tugging on the lapel of her trench coat to straighten it. While it was an effective way to hide her wings, the coat was quite large on her, and tended to bunch uncomfortably on her shoulders.

"Long day?" Picking up a glass and wiping it to occupy her hands, the woman frowned at the weary expression on Shayera's face.

"Not sleeping." Shayera downed her vodka like water and pushed the glass back for a refill.

"Dreaming?"

"Always." Rubbing the back of her neck, Shayera winced slightly. She'd broken up a mugging earlier that day, but taken a metal bar to the back of her neck as a result.

"Hey, Wolf!" A young man, dressed in straight-leg blue jeans and a red polo shirt sporting the club's logo, dashed up the ramp from the left side. "You ready for the girls to go up?"

The bartender nodded her head. "Yeah, as long as they pull anything like last week!"

"Got it," the kid answered, and dashed off down the other ramp. Shayera turned back to Wolf, frowning slightly as she downed her second glass.

"Who are the girls?" was her first question after the glass hit the bar again.

Wolf chuckled softly as she busied herself mixing a drink for another patron, something in layers of lime green and baby blue, complete with chunks of pineapple. "The 'girls' are a local singing group called Last Whisper. They're talent, real talent. I keep trying to get a recording agent in here when they're performing, but the dates never line up." Catching the look on Shayera's face, she burst out laughing. "I'm serious! This is not your average tone-deaf karaoke."

"It's not that, it's that drink you just mixed."

Wolf laughed softly and pointed to the back of the room, where three women were walking onto the stage. They were all wearing tight black jeans, high-heeled black boots, and black tank tops, but the lead singer wore a gauzy black tunic as well, to distinguish herself from her backup singers. She was tall and pale, with dark, straight hair and very red lips, making her look almost like a vampire.

"I'm glad they could make it tonight. They had called earlier to say that their lead singer was sick." Wolf, rummaging under the bar, came up a moment later with a cold can of soda, and propped her elbows up on the bar to watch the show. On stage, the pale girl took up her microphone, and a slow piano melody filled the club.

_"Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods?"_

Shayera shook her head slightly. There were plenty of good men left in the world. Gods were debatable.

_"Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising war?"_

The war was over, Shayera thought with another stab of regret. The problem was, she still wasn't sure which side she'd been on. Either way, it didn't feel like she'd won.

_"Isn't there a white knight, upon a fiery steed?"_

This time, Shayera snorted into her drink. Did men like that even exist anymore? Champions of valor and chivalry? Unbidden, John Stewart's face came to mind. Yes, she decided, yes they did exist.

_"Late at night, I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need."_

"No kidding," Shayera muttered. She'd spent every night since she left John standing on the cliff outside Wayne Manor tossing and turning. In the background, the music suddenly took on a driving beat, fast and strong.

_"I need a hero / I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night / He's gotta be strong / and he's gotta be fast / and he's gotta be fresh from the fight"_

Shayera's fingers tightened convulsively around the glass in her hand as memories flooded her. John, lifting her mask away. John, telling her to take flight, to save herself during World War Two. How strong and warm he was when he embraced her. How he'd fought Hro, endured the pain of his shattered hand and ring and smiled at her, despite everything she'd done. She remembered walking up to him after a battle, seeing his uniform charred and torn, catching a whiff of his aftershave mixed with the metallic tang of blood and the reek of burnt cloth and flesh. She had clung to the memory of his scent, the sight of his smile, the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips.

_"Somewhere after __midnight__ / in my wildest fantasies / somewhere just beyond my reach / there's someone reaching back for me"_

Shayera wondered if John had reached after her as she glided away. She had to wonder, because she hadn't looked back. If she had, she would have turned and flown right back into his arms, she knew that.

_"Racing on the thunder / rising with the heat / it's gonna take a Superman / to sweep me off my feet"_

No, she thought desperately, her fingers tightening until the glass shattered. Not Superman. The only one that could sweep her off her feet was John Stewart, the Green Lantern. Rising from her stool, she made to move for the door, but Wolf caught her by the wrist.

"Shayera, your hand."

It wasn't until it was mentioned that she felt the searing pain from her lacerated hand. Looking down, she saw her narrow wrist still snared in Wolf's rough fingers. Shayera forced herself back into her seat. In the back of the club, the girls kept singing.

_"Where the mountains meet the heavens above / and the lightening splits the sea / I could swear there's someone somewhere watching me / through the wind and the hill and the rain / and the storm and the flood / I can feel his approach like fire in my blood"_

On the dance floor in front of the stage, the young couple from earlier was dancing again. They were young, agile. Swirling lights above the stage swept across the floor, gliding over the couple. An orange beam caught the girl and held her for a moment, turning her blond hair to a gleaming copper. Her partner was broad-shouldered and strong, his skin darker in the wavering colored lights. Now a green beam had found them, casting an emerald glow around both of the two dancers. They were ebony and ivory together. Complete opposites, yet so perfect together.

Shayera's breath caught in her throat and her hands tightened, instinctive. Only when she felt something poke her right palm did she realize that Wolf was pulling the shards of glass from her palm with a pair of tweezers.

Watching the young pair dancing, Shayera lost herself again to memories. Recalling how her skin had warmed in John's presence, how she had felt feverish at his touch. As the girls launched into their chorus again, Shayera quickly stood up, and, with a sudden burst of determination, sought the presence that had been on the edge of her mind since the first moment the League had formed. The one that had lingered even after she had fled.

'J'Onn,' she called out with her mind, and felt a questioning brush of his own in return. On the stage, the lead singer faltered for a moment before continuing her song, but her gaze had riveted on Shayera.

'J'Onn,' Shayera thought clearly in her mind, 'where is he?'

The singer smiled, now, and the answer slid into Shayera's mind with gentle ease. 'He is at his apartment. He hopes you will return to him someday.'

Shayera nodded slightly, then fished into the pocket of her coat and pressed a few bills into Wolf's hand. The woman usually refused payment from her, but a look at the determination in Shayera's eyes made her reconsider. Smiling, she tucked the bills into her pocket, then reached across the polished bar to squeeze the Thanagarian's shoulder.

"You are always welcome."

Shayera smiled and set her uninjured hand over Wolf's, realizing with surprise that her other hand was wrapped in a white bandage.

"I know. Thank you." Turning, Shayera darted lightly down the ramp and to the door. In the ally behind the club, she shed the coat she had been wearing for months now, and, with relief, let her wings spread. Tonight, she thought, feeling her heart warm, she would start to repair the pieces of her broken life.

As she lifted into the sky, she turned her thoughts behind her, to the pale woman on the stage of the club. 'Thanks, J'Onn.'

Even the rush of emotion in her mind and heart could not keep his parting words from her mind. 'Of course. It is the least I could do.'

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Hours later, John Stewart was lying silently, half-asleep on the couch in his living room, when a shadow fell over him. Instincts on full alert, he sat upright, and came face-to-face with the last woman he expected to see.

"John," said Shayera by way of greeting. She was staring at her toes, one arm hanging by her side – he noticed that her hand was bandaged – and the other arm folded across her chest, her hand clasping her opposite elbow. She looked shy, even innocent.

"Shayera?" Amazed, he rubbed his eyes, praying that this was not some sort of strange dream. "Is that really you?"

"It is… John, I'm sorry for what I did, and I know I can never make up for it. I know you may never trust me again, and I can understand that, but, please believe me when I say I love you." The words came out in a terrified rush, as though she expected him to hurl her out the window she had just stepped through and wanted to speak her piece before he could.

John blinked at her again in astonishment. Before she could react, he had risen and covered the distance between them, sweeping her up in his arms and catching her mouth in a bruising kiss.

It wasn't the same as what they'd had, Shayera reflected as they kissed. But it was better than she's hoped for, and it was the first step in rebuilding themselves.

END

S: Yep. Songfic. Be afraid. Be very afraid.


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